Musings
by Chef Erica
Summary: Roxton takes a moment to reflect


            Roxton sat on the balcony watching the moonrise with a glass of brandy. It was late, and he could hear the occupants of the Treehouse cleaning up and preparing for bed behind him. It had been an unusually uneventful day, giving him the chance to go over some things that he'd been meaning to think about for a while.

            They had been here all of 4 months now, and they had had many 'abnormal' adventures, the likes of which he had never before imagined. The people they had met were beyond imagination as well, from the tribe ruled by an English 'lady,' to the Camelot society with the boy king, and even and ancient Aztec/Catholic tribe.

            They had become a pretty close-knit little family since they arrived on the Plateau, each with their own role. 

            First was Veronica, the amazing girl that took them in when they were stranded here. If he had a little sister, he imagined she would be it. She was intelligent, strong, and a hunter, just like him. They saw eye to eye on almost all subjects, and she was fiercely loyal, a trait he respected.

            Malone followed, the lad reminded him so much of his brother when they were younger, but the longer they were here the more bold he became, a characteristic his brother lacked. He was different from the rest of the group. John wasn't sure if it was immaturity or inexperience, probably a combination of the two, but he had this overwhelming urge to protect him.

            Challenger, now there was a force to be reckoned with. John truly would follow him to Hell and back. Sure he was pompous and arrogant, but that's what made him appealing. The electric fence he built when Veronica, Ned, and he went to the giant beehive was a stroke of genius, and he remembered the remarks Marguerite made about the loss of her undergarments. He would love to have been a fly on the wall when she was cutting up her camisoles, he still wondered how George had talked her into it. 

            Naturally, thinking about Challenger led to Sommerlee, the sweet old man that, at first, he had thought had no business out here, but had proven his worth to the expedition numerous times now. His gentle nature and charm helped him work his way into everyone's hearts, even, or was that especially, the cold, calculating, isolated Marguerite Krux. He had seen them talking on the balcony numerous times in hushed tones that made him wish he was the one out there with her.

            Which led his musings to the one who confounded him the most. A beautiful, intelligent, ruthless woman forged in the hottest fire from the strongest steel, but possessed the coldest heart, at least toward him. But there was something about Miss Krux that attracted him to her, like a moth to a flame. He was sure that she would burn him if he got too close, but he didn't care. When he first met her he wanted nothing more that to conquer her, another trophy for his collection, but as time passed, something changed. Maybe it was the way Challenger described how she cared for Sommerlee while he was on his deathbed, pretending to be his wife and holding his hand, making sure he was comfortable, but he began to realize there was something more to her than greed.

            When they were in the Cave of Fear and Sommerlee pulled him up from the cliff, the first lucid thought he had was Marguerite. If his brother came to him in such a terrible manner, what could possibly going through her mind, she had more demons than he cared to know about. His instincts were correct. When he found her she had turned her own weapon on herself. The self-preserving Marguerite was about to shoot herself! Though they had healed long ago, he could still feel the scratches from when she fought him when he took the gun, and how tightly she clung to him and sobbed when she came too, he didn't think it was possible for her to be in such a state. She quickly recovered though, and was her old obstinate self in no time. At least he thought she was, until that night when he spied her crying on the balcony, holding the locket she almost never took off. If any of her jewelry had sentimental value, it had to be that piece.

            Then she surprised them again with the boy king, Gawain. He thought she was playing some kind of game when they first caught up with her, but he soon found out that she was trying to protect the little twerp from himself and his adviser, and she even risked her own life to save him. His heart felt like it was being ripped out when Mordrid threw the knife and she jumped in the way. He didn't want to let her go when the old woman came to treat her wound, but was dragged away, nearly at knife point while her clothes were removed. He could see how she felt though, the kid had grown on him as well, the arrogant little a…

            His thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling him, "John, we're going to bed now, are you coming in?" Marguerite stood in the doorway looking at him curiously.

            "Is that an invitation?" His eyes twinkled as he teased her.

            "Goodnight, John." He was expecting a sarcastic remark from her, but she just smiled and walked away from him, heading downstairs to her room. 

            He watched her go, wondering what the future might bring. He hoped and prayed it was her. 

He stood and stretched his legs, finished his brandy, and headed for his own room. Until the future saw fit to give him his heart's desire, he had his dreams.


End file.
